


Not all treasure's silver and gold

by xavier87



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/F, Female captains, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, Naval Battles, Pirate Lexa (The 100), Smut, french clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25488466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavier87/pseuds/xavier87
Summary: “Capitaine, it’s The Flame.”Of course, of all the pirates that buccaneered in the Caribbean, she had to encounter the worst of them. The Flame was the most dreaded pirate ship to date. No one could remember exactly when it had appeared, as very few sailors had survived an encounter with the frigate and its crew. It was rumoured to be led by the most vicious pirate; a heartless killer only known by their title: The Commander. Clarke could feel beads of sweat running down her back, but it was with a poised voice that she gave her next order. “Ready the cannons!”
Relationships: Anya/Raven Reyes, Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 127
Kudos: 412





	1. Chapter 1

The sun was beating down on this summery day of 1716. Standing at the forecastle, Captain Clarke Griffin was enjoying the cooling mist that formed every time the bow hit a wave. _The Arkadia_ had left Roseau, Dominica’s main harbour, that morning, and was well on its way back to Guadeloupe thanks to the tailwinds. If the weather remained clement, they should reach Polis before sunset.

Despite its location, halfway between the French islands of Martinique and Guadeloupe, the French and English had agreed to stop fighting over Dominica and had left it as a neutral territory since 1660. In recent years, however, more and more French had established permanent settlements, setting up timer camps and coffee plantations. In hopes to officially add Dominica to the French West Indies without any bloodshed, the governor of Guadeloupe had sent Clarke and her brigantine to meet with the most prominent family among the settlers, the Collins.

The 22-year-old blonde had beamed at the chance to prove her worth. Female sailors were still a rarity, and female captains in the Caribbean could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Yet, the young woman had never let her gender or natural beauty deter her from her dreams to command her own ship. After studying medicine with her mother for years, just shy of her 18th birthday, she had stolen a schooner with the help of her childhood friends and sailed around Guadeloupe. Her parents were furious, the obstinate character of their daughter was a frequent source of lamentation at the Griffin household, but they were forced to admit that the young woman made a pretty good captain. Despite his initial reluctance, the governor granted her the commandership of a schooner. Since that day, Captain Griffin and her loyal friends had accomplished many missions for the governor and the Kingdom of France. Beginning with some menial courier tasks, they had rapidly been promoted to the transport of distinguished guests and precious cargo.

Having noticed the natural leadership and negotiation abilities of the blonde, the governor entrusted her this recent diplomatic mission. Sadly, the Collins turned out to be an arrogant, idiotic bunch, refusing Guadeloupe's support. The youngest son, Finn, even had the nerve to ask for her hand in marriage, stating that with a good match such as him, she wouldn’t have to be forced to dress like a man and undertake such an unladylike profession. If both Wells and Octavia hadn’t been there to hold her back, she would have castrated him there and then. Suffice to say that the mission was not a success, and Clarke was eager to return to Polis where she would enjoy the taverns’ cheap ale with her companions.

The young captain was lost in her thoughts, when a sudden cry from Jasper, the lookout, brought her back to reality.

“ _Capitaine_! Pirate ship to port!”

 _Foutredieu_ , that would be the last straw to this disastrous mission. Not wasting a second, Clarke ran to the main mast and climbed the Jacob’s ladder all the way to the crow’s nest. Borrowing the monocular from Jasper, she pointed it in the direction indicated. She spotted a large frigate, about a nautical mile away from them, all sails black. It was too far to make out their flag, but they both knew that _The Arkadia_ would be in a lot of trouble by the time they could.

“Full sail!” Clarke shouted at her crew on her way down to the deck.

She made it back to the helm in record time, panting. Whoever the pirates were, they had a larger ship than her, which meant more cannons. Their only hope was that _The Arkadia_ , the lighter one, would be able to outrun them and reach Guadeloupe before they were caught. She considered her 80 crew members like a second family, and knew that they wouldn’t go down without a fight. But _The Arkadia_ only possessed 20 cannons and 6 swivel guns, and from what she had seen, the frigate threatening them probably had twice as many.

Her fears grew when she heard Jasper shout again. “ _Capitaine_ , it’s _The Flame_.”

Of course, of all the pirates that buccaneered in the Caribbean, she had to encounter the worst of them. _The Flame_ was the most dreaded pirate ship to date. No one could remember exactly when it had appeared, as very few sailors had survived an encounter with the frigate and its crew. It was rumoured to be led by the most vicious pirate; a heartless killer only known by their title: The Commander. Clarke could feel beads of sweat running down her back, but it was with a poised voice that she gave her next order. “Ready the cannons!”

The next hour turned out to be the longest, most stressful one of Clarke’s life. _The Flame_ was slowly gaining on them, despite their best efforts, and the blonde captain knew that they were still too far away from Polis to hope for a rescue. The pirates had already shot at them twice, and it was only a matter of time before they were close enough to release a broadside.

As it happened, less than five minutes later, she barely heard Wells, her quartermaster, shout “Brace” before cannonballs flew over their heads. They answered with a salvo of their own, and the nautical battle began.

Chunks of wood were flying in all directions, maiming the crew with deadly accuracy. Clarke was manoeuvering the closest swivel gun, aiming it at the pirates on the deck. After about 15 minutes and 8 salvos on each side, _The Arkadia_ wasn’t faring well. The foremast was down, broken by a cannonball, and several sailors were lying in their own blood. Grappling hooks were already appearing on the side of _The Arkadia_.

“ _Aux armes_!” Clarke shouted, trying her best not to let fear show in her voice, before grabbing her sword and pistol. “They are boarding.”

The pirates were already jumping on deck, their faces painted in black and hair held back in braids. Separated from most of her crew, Clarke was fighting at the helm. She shot the first man that came close to her, before abandoning the pistol she wouldn’t have time to reload and grabbing a second sword. Thankful to her parents for the fencing lessons they had forced her to take, she managed to kill two more pirates while sustaining only a graze on her upper arm. She could tell, however, that her men were losing.

Noticing a hole in The Flame’s hull, near the stern, she came up with a crazy idea. Sheathing her swords, she hopped over the railing and jumped onto _The Flame_ ’s deck. Mindful of the splinters of wood, she climbed down the side of the hull and discreetly entered through the hole. As she had suspected, she was now standing on the gun deck, near the magazine. Before anyone noticed her, the blonde grabbed a linstock and a small barrel of powder before shouting as loud as she could. “Enough! Call your men back or I blow up your ship.”

The surprise on the pirates’ faces was quickly replaced by anger. Clarke noticed a teenage girl run upstairs, probably to get her leader. The rest of the men circled her, weapons at hands, but the sight of the match getting closer to the powder made them jerk back.

“What are you planning to do? There is only one of you, and 40 of us.” The voice, cold and detached, made Clarke turn her head. A tall, lean woman in her late 20s or early 30s was walking down the stairs from the main deck, her dirty-blond hair gathered at the back of her head by two small braids. Her almond-shaped brown eyes, indicating some Asian ancestry, were staring at the blonde, challenging her.

“Call back your men,” Clarke repeated. “Let _The Arkadia_ go, or I’ll blow up your ship.”

The tall woman didn’t reply for a moment; her eyes were moving up and down the French captain’s body, assessing the seriousness of her threat.

“And what tells me that you won’t blow up our ship once yours is out of harm’s way? Do you really think we are going to trust you?”

“You’re the pirates,” Clarke scoffed. “I’m a French officer, my word is my bond.”

“Fine,” the woman sighed after a few seconds. “Tris, tell Lexa and the others to come back on board.”

The teenager from earlier ran back upstairs, leaving Clarke in a stalemate with about 40 very angry pirates looking at her and a barrel of powder ready to explode in her arms. A few minutes later, the cries and noises of the fight decreased. Looking through the hole in the hull, the French blonde saw _The Arkadia_ slowly moving away. Her brigantine had suffered a lot of damage. Many holes were visible on the hull, the foremast was broken, some of the sails had been torn, and blood was running down all the way into the sea. But thankfully the main mast had survived the fight, and as long as there were no holes below the waterline, the ship should make it back to Polis.

Once _The Arkadia_ was far enough that the pirates wouldn’t be able to catch up with it before it was in sight of Polis, Clarke knew that her time was up. She could blast the pirate ship and save their future victims, but breaking her word didn’t sit well with her. How could she consider herself any better than them if she was willing to betray her honour? Exhaling deeply, she threw the linstock to the side and gave the small barrel she was holding to one of the men nearby. She made no move to unsheathe her swords, knowing that they would shoot her before she could kill more than one or two of them.

The pirates stepped aside to let the tall blonde pass. Clarke couldn’t help but think that this had to be how a panther moved, slowly, unrepentant, ready to jump at its prey. The older woman didn’t stop until she was standing two feet away from her.

“You’re mine now,” she snarled.

The French blonde didn’t even have time to reply that a powerful hook connected with her jaw, rendering her unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foutredieu (dated) = Bloody Hell!
> 
> Aux armes! = To arms!
> 
> So, this idea has been at the back of my head for a while now, and it sounded really fun. It's only once I started writing that I realized how I had grossly underestimated the research necessary to write nautical terms and relatively accurate naval battles descriptions. Hope you enjoy it at least!


	2. Chapter 2

When Clarke regained consciousness, the sun was already setting over the horizon. She felt a jolt of pain in her jaw when she opened her mouth, and grunted at the sensation. It didn’t seem to be broken, but she was most certainly sporting a nice bruise. When she tried to inspect it with her arm, she found herself unable to move. Opening her eyes, she realised that she was tied up to the mainmast. A thick rope was circling her torso and arms, from the top of her breasts to her navel. Her legs and head remained free, but without any knife at hands, she had no means to escape.

Rotating her head has far as she could, she observed her surroundings. The pirates had already cleaned _The Flame_ ’s deck and removed the debris from the fight. If it weren’t for the railing missing chunks here and there, you wouldn’t know that the ship had found herself in a naval battle only hours before. Based on the position of the sun, they were sailing south-southwest, away from Guadeloupe and Polis. Clarke knew that _The Arkadia_ would have reached Polis by now, but considering the time it would take for the governor to ready ships for a rescue, plus the fact that they would have to guess which direction the frigate had taken after letting them go, the odds of her friends coming to save her were infinitesimal.

From what the blonde had heard of the pirates’ reputation in general, and of the Commander’s in particular, she couldn’t hope for any mercy. She was only praying that they would grant her a quick death, but she was determined not to waver or beg. She wouldn’t tarnish her family name and honour by showing weakness in front of those miscreants.

Despite her resolution, she gulped a few minutes later when a giant walked towards her. His thick unkempt beard reached the middle of his torso; his black hair, shaved on the sides, was pulled behind his head in a braid. Both of his temples wore a symmetrical tattoo, some geometric figure Clarke had never seen before. All in all, the man — the Commander, Clarke assumed — looked terrifying. To her surprise, though, he stepped aside, revealing a young woman so beautiful, the blonde felt another jolt of pain when her mouth opened of its own accord.

Having grown up in the high society of Guadeloupe, Clarke had met several beautiful women, always dressed in the prettiest dresses à la mode. She had partaken in several balls at the governor’s house in her naval uniform and had caught the attention of more than one lady over the years. But none of them had looked as stunning as the female pirate standing in front of her. Her black boots reached to her knees, and the black pants that emerged from them were tight enough to suggest lean thighs and a narrow waistline, with a sword hanging on each side. Under a dark overcoat that stopped mid-thigh, the woman wore a blood-red shirt. Trying not to stare at the medium-size breasts, Clarke glimpsed a white undershirt. But what struck the blonde captain was the stranger’s face. Her chestnut hair was braided at the back of her head, under a black tricorn, leaving her features clear. She had a relatively high forehead, defined cheekbones, and a jawline that seemed to have been carved by the old Greek gods. Her unvarnished pouty lips, a light shade of pink, begged to be kissed, and if the situation had been any different, Clarke would have given her right arm for the chance to do so. But most of all, it was her eyes that caught the blonde’s attention. Large and unmoving, they were a deep shade of green, and reminded the captain of the tropical forest behind her family mansion.

“So,” the pirate said, her voice much softer than Clarke would have anticipated, “you’re the one who threatened to blow up my ship?”

“You’re the one who attacked mine,” she replied, not willing to show her surprise. This young woman was the Commander? She looked barely a year or two older than the French captain, and though Clarke didn’t doubt she was a fierce fighter, she would have thought the Asian blonde who had knocked her out or the giant standing nearby made better candidates to the title. Whoever this brunette was, she had to be ruthless and smart to manage to keep the loyalty of such a crowd.

“Commander, let me gut her and throw her to the sharks.”

Clarke turned her head to the side to see the woman who had spoken. Her dark skin and hair marked her as a former slave — an escapee maybe? She, too, had a tattoo on one temple. The other side, however, was marred by two large scars, one on her forehead and one from under her left eye all the way to her jaw. The French captain did not doubt that she would carry her threat if allowed too.

“Keelhaul her,” the Asian woman from before growled. Not that anyone was asking for her opinion, but between the two, Clarke would rather be gutted. At least it would be over rather quickly. The perspective of drowning under the ship or dying from the lacerations caused by the barnacles covering the hull sounded less appealing to her.

“Make her walk the plank!” someone else shouted. “It’s been a while.”

“Maroon her! It will last longer.”

While the pirates were discussing the most painful way to send the blonde to her grave, the Commander remained oddly quiet, her green eyes staring at the woman tied to her mast. Clarke, decided not to show her fear, was looking right back at her. After a minute of this silent contest, the beautiful brunette raised one hand in the air, and all the pirates fell silent.

“We will keep her tied up for now, without any water or food. If we cross a deserted island, I’ll consider marooning her.”

Without another glance at her prisoner, the Commander moved away, her men returning to their tasks. The Asian woman seemed disappointed at the lack of blood, but she left without contradicting her leader.

Clarke let her head fall back against the mat. Without any water, she would be dead within a few days. And even if she managed to survive long enough for the pirates to abandon her on an island, she wouldn’t be faring much better. Unless she was lucky enough to be picked up by another ship, chances were she would die of dehydration. She only hoped that the pirates would grant her a canteen of water and a pistol.

The next two days were hell for the blonde. Unable to move, she wetted herself a few times, and yet she was too tired and thirsty to care anymore. The sun was mercilessly beating down on her from morning to evening, and she could feel her throat all dried up. Some of the pirates taunted her with water canteens and biscuits when they weren’t whispering threats and promises of a slow death at her. One particularly nasty fellow punched her in the face once, but the Commander had him flogged five times for his cowardice, and the rest of the crew left her alone after that. Her only reprieve came in the form of a light shower the first evening, allowing her to drink some water.

On the third evening of her captivity, the clouds turned menacing, and the waves got higher. A storm was brewing not far from them, and the Commander ordered her crew to change course in hopes to avoid the brunt of it.

“Reef the main sail!” Clarke heard her shout, voice as controlled as ever.

The weather rapidly worsened, and the waves were now over 15 feet. The Commander was steering with a remarkable mastery, keeping the bow towards the walls of water so the ship could plough through them safely. A few waves washed across the deck, drenching Clarke. If she hadn’t been tied to the mast, she would have been dragged overboard.

 _The Flame_ battled the elements for more than an hour before they managed to make it out of the storm. The ship was still rolling, but the worst was behind them. The blonde was shaking, her wet clothes clinging to her body provided little protection against the wind. She had been able to drink some of the rainwater, but the last hour had been exhausting. Her head resting against the mat, she was about to close her eyes when she noticed the Commander walking around the deck. The brunette was inspecting her ship, checking the cordage and the railing. They had been lucky not to lose anyone, a clear demonstration of the crew’s experience. The captain stopped not far from Clarke, and the blonde felt the green eyes on her, making sure that she was still alive and tied up.

She was debating whether talking to the Commander would improve her situation or not when she noticed the tall Asian woman rush to her leader’s side, concern written all over her sharp features. From what Clarke could hear, a cannon had got loose during the storm, and with all the rolling, it had crushed a sailor’s leg. The Commander paled at the news, and placed a hand over her companion’s shoulder in a compassionate gesture. Whoever that sailor was, she seemed to be important to the dirty-blond haired woman. Realising that this could be her only chance of survival, Clarke called for the two pirates.

“Untie me. I might be able to save her.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: some blood/description of a surgery

The two pirates looked at her, surprise and mistrust in their eyes.

“Don’t listen to her, Commander,” the older blonde growled. “She would say anything to get free, and then she’ll try to kill us all again.”

The brunette remained quiet for a minute, staring at her prisoner, her head tilted to one side. Finally, she approached Clarke, her impassive mask on.

“You say you can help Raven? How do I know it isn’t a plot?”

“You don’t,” Clarke replied honestly. “But we are in the middle of the ocean, it’s not like I have anywhere else to go. You can just make sure that I stay away from the armoury if it makes you feel better.”

At the lack of reaction from the Commander, she sighed and continued, “My mother is a physician. She trained me for years, hoping that I would follow in her footsteps, before I chose to become a captain. I can help, I swear.”

“Very well. Lincoln, our physician, has been missing since we attacked your ship. That makes you the only person qualified to help. But if you try anything, I assure you that starvation will be the least of your concerns.”

And with that, the Commander had Clarke untied and brought below deck, to a small room near the stern. Spotting a few herbs and surgical instruments, the French woman realised that she was standing in the physician’s room.

The sailor who had been injured, Raven, was lying on the cloth-covered table. Her lower left leg had been crushed by the cannon, the bone protruding in a couple of places. There was no way to save the limb, Clarke realised at once, and she shuddered at the thought of what she would have to do.

“I am sorry but I am going to have to amputate. Her leg is too damaged, it will turn gangrenous if she keeps it.”

“If she dies,” the scary Asian woman threatened her, “I will cut you to pieces.”

“Anya,” the injured sailor groaned, “stop terrorising my doctor. I need her to keep a steady hand.”

“Excuse my woman,” she continued, looking at Clarke with tearful eyes, “her bark is much worse than her bite. I would know after all.”

Trying not to smile at the innuendo, Clarke nodded before turning around and grabbing what she would use: straps to tie Raven to the table and prevent her from moving, a sharp crooked knife, cloths to slow the bleeding, a crow’s beak iron haemostat and a saw.

“I will need some rum, and two people to assist and hold Raven down. Anya,” she said, looking at the blonde, “you should leave. Trust me, you don’t want to see this.”

“I am staying,” the tall pirate replied, gently grabbing the dark-haired woman’s hand between hers.

“As you wish,” Clarke shrugged, “just don’t interfere.”

To her surprise, the Commander chose to remain as well, and took hold of the sailor’s legs. The giant she had seen before, Gustus she learned, put his hands on Raven’s shoulders.

After offering a tumbler of rum to the woman and sipping some to calm her nerves, Clarke gave her a piece of wood to bite on and began to work. The cannon had crushed the lower part of the leg, below the knee, and the captain had decided to cut below the joint, as it would give Raven a wider range of mobility. She set a tourniquet in place like her mother had taught her, and started to cut through the skin with the help of the knife, remembering that she had to leave a flap on one side long enough that it would cover the stump.

The sailor had bravely held her screams at first, but as soon as the knife dug deeper into the flesh, she began crying and trying to free herself. It took the combined efforts of Gustus, the Commander, two other sailors who had come as reinforcement and the straps to stop her from making things worse. Mercifully, the poor woman passed out when Clarke used the haemostat to ligature the main vessel and prevent her from losing too much blood. Once she had cut through the skin and flesh and freed the bone, the blonde grabbed the saw and started cutting through the fibula and then the tibia. After many long minutes, the useless member came off, and everyone exhaled deeply. Clarke sutured the flap around the stump, and dressed the wound with the cloths she had prepared.

Exhausted, the blonde sat on the chair behind her, and looked around the room. Raven was still out cold, and would hopefully remain as such for a while. The pirates who had helped were paler than before, but they had held their ground. Anya was watching over her companion with tears in her eyes; the closest to a human that Clarke had seen her. And the Commander, she was as quiet as usual, but she was staring at her prisoner with new awe in her forest orbs.

After resting for a few minutes, Clarke stood up and approached the Asian woman. “Do you want me to have a look at your hand?” she asked, trying not to anger the woman, “it looks broken.”

“I’m fine,” the dirty-blond haired pirates snarled, not moving her eyes from her lover.

“Very well. Let me know if you change your mind, or if there is any difference in her condition.”

Feeling like her presence wasn’t necessary anymore, Clarke left the room. As she wasn’t sure of her current status on the ship, she decided to return to the main deck, the Commander following her without a word. Once the two women reached the rail, the brunette’s soft voice interrupted her reverie.

“That was quite amazing, what you did earlier. I have seen this type of surgery before, but I don’t remember them being so quick.”

“You have my mother to thank for that,” the blonde sighed, thinking of how Abigail was probably losing her mind imagining what could be happening to her daughter, “she is an amazing surgeon.”

“Can I ask you something?” she continued after a moment of silence. The pirate nodded. “Why did you let me live? Your crew wanted me dead, why did you have me tied up instead?”

“Being starved for three days was not punishment enough for you?” the brunette challenged with a smirk. “The truth is, I didn’t want you to die.”

Seeing the surprise and incomprehension on the French captain’s face, the Commander continued. “What you did, to jump onto my ship and all, it was both smart and very brave. You had to know that you would be left behind, and yet you did it anyway. That tells me that you care about your men, probably as much as I do about mine. So no, I didn’t want to kill you. I thought that you deserved a chance.”

“You know I was going to die of thirst, right?” the blonde retorted.

“It rains pretty often in this season,” the brunette shrugged in response. “Besides, if it hadn’t, I would have found an excuse to give you some water. I told you, I didn’t want you to die.”

“Hmm, thank you, I guess. What are you going to do with me now? Tie me back to the mast?”

The blonde knew that, rationally, she should beg the pirate to let her live, or at least not antagonise her any further. But part of her couldn’t stop from wanting to get under the beautiful brunette’s skin and rip off her mask of coolness. She couldn’t figure out how a woman so young and composed could be the leader of the most feared ship of pirates that plagued the Caribbean. Something didn’t add up, and she was decided to unravel the mystery of the pretty Commander. She was certainly not subtle about it, because she noticed one side of the brunette’s mouth sporting a smile.

“I have a proposal for you, _capitaine_. As you already know, we don’t have a physician on board at the moment. So, you can either resume your position against the mast as our prisoner, or work as our doctor until we can find a new one. Once we do, you have my word that you will be free to go.”

“Clarke,” the blonde replied. When the pirate cocked her head, confused, she added, “my name is Clarke. If I am going to be part of your crew for the time being, you might as well call me by my name.”

“Clarke,” the brunette repeated, beaming.

The strong pronunciation of the consonants, as well as the way her face transformed and her eyes smiled, was enough to send a rush of heat all the way down Clarke’s centre. _Uh-oh_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song to listen to while reading this one:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZnJ7uOK4nYg&list=RDZnJ7uOK4nYg&start_radio=1&t=2
> 
> He's a Pirate (Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean Theme) Violin Cover - Taylor Davis 😉

The following three weeks were both the weirdest and the most exhilarating of Clarke’s life. After stopping on an island to collect wood to repair the damages caused by the naval battle, _The Flame_ had been roaming around, hunting sea animals and looking for underwater shipwrecks to explore thanks to the onboard diving bell. Clarke had been worried at first that the pirates would be displeased to see her free, but since Raven had survived the surgery, they all seemed grateful to have her with them. Even Anya wasn’t looking at her like she was plotting painful ways to kill her anymore. The poor black-haired sailor was still in pain, but her stump was healing nicely and infection hadn’t set in. Soon, she would be able to get a wooden leg fitted and start walking again.

The relationship between Clarke and the Commander was getting stronger day by day. They hadn’t discussed anything too personal yet, but they had spent many hours exchanging sailing stories and discussing books they enjoyed. The French captain had even accompanied the brunette on a diving run one day. They had explored a Spanish ship sunk about seven metres below sea level, and had come back aboard ecstatic, their bags full of coins. It had been the most entertainment the blonde had had in months. She could feel herself starting to fall for the mysterious pirate with intelligent green eyes, and the tattoos she had spotted on her upper arms and back had certainly not diminished her attraction.

One morning, Clarke was tidying up the physician cabin when shouts caught her attention. Running to the deck, she found the Commander at the helm, barking orders. A British ship of the line was chasing them, and it was getting closer by the minute. Making use of the spyglass the brunette lent her, Clarke could see that it was a two-deckers sporting around 70 guns. If it managed to catch up, align itself properly and send a well-aimed broadside, the damages on _The Flame_ would be considerable.

“Can we outrun them?” she asked the Commander.

“No,” the brunette grimly replied. “ _The Flame_ is one of the fastest frigates that exist, but we haven’t replaced all our sails, and they are upwind. Our best chance would be to sail near the coast and lose them in shallow waters, but there are no islands nearby, and we would risk running aground too.”

“ _Merveilleux_ ,” Clarke groaned. “Do you have another idea?”

“Get ready for a fight,” the brunette shrugged. “We don’t have much of a choice, they’ll either send us to the bottom or hang us all if we surrender.”

“There must be another way,” Clarke muttered, more to herself than to the tensed pirate holding the wheel with knuckles so tight they were practically white. 

The British ship was getting closer and closer, coming from their port side. Trying to remember everything she had read on naval strategies and past battles; she suddenly looked back at the Commander with a large grin on her face.

“Your anchor is on starboard, right?”

“Yes...” the pirate answered slowly, a frown visible on her high forehead. When her eyebrows shot up and her eyes bulged, Clarke knew she had got it.

“That is insane. We’re going to capsize, or the line is going to tear the hull apart.”

“Maybe,” the blonde conceded. “There isn’t much we can do for the hull, except setting some reinforcements quickly around that area and pray that they hold. As for capsizing, we should be able to lower the risks by putting as much weight as possible on the port side to counterbalance.”

“Even if we pull it off, we’ll need to immobilise them and flee. They have much more firepower than us, and we can’t board without being shot at.”

“So, langrage, and then—”

“A stern rake,” the brunette finished, nodding and smiling excitedly. “If we can break their rudder, they won’t be able to steer anymore.”

The next 20 minutes saw the sailors running around and getting ready to execute the craziest plan they had ever heard. The gun crew loaded their cannons with bolts, nails and all the scraps of metal they could find while the sailors reinforced the hull around the hawse and moved all the barrels and crates onto the port side.

Once the British ship, the HMS _Northumberland_ was closing in on them, the Commander shouted, “Lower the anchor!”

For about 15 seconds, nothing happened. And then, all the sudden, the line tensed and _The Flame_ dived to the starboard front side. Despite Clarke’s warning, many sailors lost their footing and rolled towards the railing. The Commander released the wheel, and the ship started describing a semicircle around its anchor, effectively turning around.

As soon as they were side by side with the HMS _Northumberland_ , Clarke heard the brunette shout “Fire”, and the British sails got torn apart by the metal projectiles. The manoeuvre had been so unexpected that the ship of the line was unable to return fire properly, its crew still loading most of the cannons. Only a few cannonballs flew towards _The Flame_ , causing little damage to the deck. “Reload”, Anya shouted at the gunners, as the pirate ship was continuing its trajectory.

Once they had passed the whole hull, the Commander turned the wheel starboard, and _The Flame_ found itself astern the HMS _Northumberland_. The raking fire that followed tore the rudder and the officers’ cabin apart, killing many sailors and leaving the British ship unable to manoeuvre anymore. Careful to stay out of the line of fire, _The Flame_ sailed away from its damaged opponent, and Clarke, too excited to care about the decorum, joined in on the crew’s hurrahs.

“You don’t feel bad for fighting on the same side as pirates?” the Commander asked her with a smirk.

“Not really,” she answered truthfully. “France and England have officially been at peace for three years, but if they had captured us, with no one else around to see, they would have hung me like the rest of you. I might as well—”

The rest of her sentence was interrupted by a loud crack. A piece of the boom, damaged by a cannonball, broke free. Just before it landed on her head, a body collided with hers, pushing her to the side. When she recovered her senses and lifted her head, she saw the Commander lying on the deck, visibly in pain. The piece of wood that had almost cracked Clarke’s skull open had landed on the pirate’s shoulder, dislocating it.

While Indra, the quartermaster, took command of the ship, Gustus cradled the brunette in his large arms and gently carried her to the physician’s room. After inspecting the injured joint, Clarke popped the bone back in place, earning a groan from the woman. She carefully wrapped the pirate’s arm against her torso to prevent her from moving it and slowing down the healing process.

“Thank you,” she told the Commander once she was satisfied with her work. “How is your shoulder?”

“Hurts,” the brunette replied, earning herself an eye roll from the blonde.

“Why did you do it? Risk your life for me? I’m not one of you.”

“You are the only physician we have; I couldn’t let your pretty head get damaged,” the woman answered, the corners of her mouth moving upwards.

“But you’re the Commander.”

“If I die, another will take my place,” she shrugged, before hissing in pain. Seeing the puzzlement on the younger woman’s face, she explained. “The Commander’s title is passed down from captain to captain on this ship. When I die, someone else will become the Commander.”

“Oh. That makes sense. I was wondering how you could have been the Commander for so long when you look barely older than me. So,” the blonde continued with a frown, “you’re not the terrible monster that has sunk dozens of ships?”

“That was my predecessor I suppose. He was not one to show mercy. I became the Commander about two years ago, after he was killed in a tavern during a fight. We still plunder ships on occasion, as you well know, but since I have taken the wheel, we have been hunting for treasures and wrecks rather than attacking other vessels. It costs fewer lives on all sides.”

“How is the Commander chosen?” Clarke asked, sitting across from the green-eyed woman who amazed her a little more with each passing day.

“We hold a competition of sorts. It involves fighting and shooting, of course, but also tests the skills needed to command a ship, such as navigation, map reading. I had been on board for three years when the previous Commander died, and Anya mentored me well, so I joined in and proved to be the best candidate.”

“And how did you find yourself on a pirate ship? You are clearly educated; a lot more than I would have expected from—”

Before she could finish, the brunette interrupted her. “This is a story for another time, Clarke. I’m sorry but I should rest.”

“Of course, Commander,” the blonde replied, sensing that she had stumbled on a sensitive topic.

“Lexa.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Lexa,” the pirate replied softly. “If you’re going to fight by my side, you should know it.”

“Lexa,” the blonde repeated, a tender smile on her face, before exiting the cabin to let her rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The HMS Northumberland was a real 70-gun third rate, launched in 1705. Not sure she ever made it to the Caribbean, though.
> 
> The diving bell was my nod to Assassin’s Creed IV Black Flag. If you’ve never played it, you should, it’s an awesome game!  
> And the “anchor trick” is from Pirates of the Caribbean. I don’t know if it is completely feasible, but that scene is one of the best in the movie and I felt compelled to include it 😁
> 
> Merveilleux = Great, awesome


	5. Chapter 5

It took a few days for the Commander to resume her place at the wheel, and she spent most of them either pacing up and down the ship or in her cabin. When she wasn’t busy taking care of the pirates, Clarke spent her time by the brunette’s side, under the pretence that she wanted to make sure the woman didn’t damage her shoulder more. The first evening, the older woman had sheepishly asked if the blonde could read to her. To Clarke’s surprise, Lexa’s favourite book turned out to be a battered copy of the _Iliad_ , which led her to confess that she had always admired Achilles, and that she had tried her whole life to emulate the bravery and wisdom of the heroes of the old poem. As far as Clarke was concerned, Lexa reminded her more of Helen than any other character of the book, but she kept her mouth shut, not sure that the brunette would appreciate the compliment.

During the first week of August, _The Flame_ was approaching Martinique when the look-out, a young boy by the name of Aden, spotted another pirate ship in distress, trapped between two British frigates that were mercilessly firing at it. To Clarke’s utter surprise, the Commander, who had been incredibly well-mannered until then, let a curse escape her lips when she looked into her spyglass.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Do you know them?”

“Yes,” the brunette replied, her jaw tenser than usual. “It’s _The Jewel of the Realm_ , Luna’s ship.”

When she turned her head, she saw that the blonde was quietly looking at her, waiting for her to continue, and she sighed. “Luna was part of our crew. When the previous Commander died, she was one of my competitors for the title. I bested her eventually, though it was a close call. She left not long after, and took command of her own ship.”

“So, you are enemies now?”

“Not really,” Lexa shrugged. “We didn’t see eye-to-eye when it came to what I wanted to do with _The Flame_ , and she left. Some here would call her a traitor, but she was almost like a sister to me for a long time, and there is no ill-feeling between us.” 

Expecting the Commander to rescue her former mate, Clarke found herself baffled a minute later when the brunette didn’t order her crew to get ready for a fight, and turned _The Flame_ around instead, leading them away from the three frigates. Knowing better than to confront in front of the other pirates, she waited for the brunette to stride into her cabin, and followed her.

“What happened?” she asked cautiously, “I thought Luna was your friend.”

“She was,” Lexa sighed, all her body tense, a dangerous glimmer in her eyes. Clarke knew that she should tread lightly, but she couldn’t stop herself from questioning the other woman’s decision.

“Why did you run away from the fight then? We could have helped them.”

“What is it to you, Clarke? They were only pirates, why do you care?”

The truth was, the blonde wasn’t quite sure why it mattered to her at all. Not so long ago, she would have rejoiced at the thought of a pirate ship been sent to the bottom, but that day, it left her uneasy. Was it because the brunette had turned out not to be who she thought?

“It doesn’t matter to me, personally, but I don’t understand how you can abandon a friend. Didn’t you say you want to be like Achilles? I never took you for a heartless coward, Lexa,” she replied, the disappointment clear in her voice.

“Clarke,” the pirate growled, warning her that she should consider her next words carefully. “Achilles is seen as a hero because he chose to go to Troy and later kill Hector, knowing that it would lead to his own demise. But do you think he considered what would happen to his Myrmidons after his death?”

The French captain stayed quiet, looking at the beautiful woman in front of her who appeared more tortured than she had ever seen her. Her big forest eyes were unfocused, dancing around the room, and she had bitten her lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Isn’t that what pirates do, though?” she tried again, her voice gentler than before. “Attack other ships, battle to the death and all?”

Lexa sighed before aligning her green orbs with the sapphire ones that were still on her. She looked suddenly a lot younger, and yet so tired, as if the weight of the responsibility that she carried was crushing her lean body.

“Sometimes we do. When there is the possibility of a substantial reward, or if we don’t have a choice. But every time we engage in a battle, when I order my men to board a ship, I potentially send them to their death. I cannot do it for the sake of my feelings. Luna’s frigate was too damaged, she might have already been killed for all we knew, I couldn’t risk my ship, the lives of my crew, only to save one friend.”

“We are captains,” the brunette continued after visibly swallowing, “we have to make decisions with our heads and not our hearts, you should understand that better than anyone.”

Clarke would have believed her, if not for the defeated look on her face, or the clear regret in her eyes. Approaching slowly, she took one of the woman’s hands into hers, pulling gently so they would be face to face. Lifting the brunette’s chin with two fingers so she could see her eyes, she spoke again.

“Do you truly think that? That following your heart is weakness?” The pirate’s silence was confirmation enough. “Because I disagree, and I think deep down, you do too. I was ready to sacrifice myself to save my crew because I love them like family. And you would unquestionably do the same. I saw your face when Raven was hurt, how you tried to comfort Anya, or how you look at the younger ones like Aden and Tris. You might want to pretend that you don’t care, Lexa, but I see right through you.”

“Get out!” the brunette seethed, yanking her hand away from the blonde. Surprised by the violence of her reaction, Clarke left the captain’s cabin and returned onto the deck.

Hours later, she was in her cabin, ready for bed, when someone softly knocked on her door. When she opened it, she found herself facing the Commander, awkwardly standing in front of the threshold. The brunette looked like she had got ready to sleep too, as she was only sporting pants and a large shirt, her jacket, tricorn and swords nowhere to be seen, and her hair free of its usual braids. Intrigued, Clarke let the brunette in without a word, and sat on her bed, waiting for the other woman to open her mouth. It took Lexa long minutes to talk, awkwardly sitting on the chair facing the bed, but she eventually began to tell her story to an attentive blonde.

The Commander had been born in England in 1692 to Baron Benjamin Woods and his wife, Anne. From a young age, little Alexandria had demonstrated a remarkable intelligence, and various private tutors had been hired to nurture her abilities, not only in the arts and literature, but also in subjects traditionally reserved to the men, such as fencing and horse riding.

Her parents hoped to marry her to a nobleman, but the teenager was already in love with the daughter of a viscount, a beautiful redhead named Costia. When her mother had announced that she was to be engaged to the son of one of her father’s friends, the young lovers planned to run away together. Sadly, her tutor at the time, a stern man named Titus, caught wind of their projects and informed the Woods. Costia was taken away by her family without being allowed to say goodbye, and Lexa’s parents, fearing a scandal, decided to send the 18-year-old to spend the rest of her life in a convent, where she would hopefully be cured of her sinful dispositions.

On her way to the convent, Lexa managed to escape her family’s surveillance, and with little money in her pocket, she travelled to Portsmouth, where she boarded on a ship, disguised as a boy. Once in the Caribbean, she eventually arrived in Nassau, the Republic of Pirates. She survived there for a few months by working in a tavern and stealing from drunk pirates until Anya caught her. Rather than killing her, the Asian woman had taken her under her wing and introduced her to _The Flame_ ’s crew, which had rapidly become her new family. And after three years, when the previous Commander had died, the resourceful brunette had inherited the title.

The whole time it took her to tell her story, Lexa’s voice didn’t quiver, but her eyes turned glassy at the mention of her former love. Clarke, recognizing the anguish in the green orbs, took hold of her hand halfway through, and didn’t let go until the brunette stopped.

“I’m sorry I called you heartless earlier,” the blonde eventually said, “you are anything but.”

“Sometimes I wish I were. It would be easier.”

“Lexa, your men believe in you because you care for them. I’ve seen how they all look at you, especially the younger ones, they don’t just respect you, they adore you. That is not something a heartless captain would achieve.”

“Besides,” she chuckled, “on a more selfish note, I’m glad you are more human than the rumours make you. Indra really looked like she wanted to gut me that day.”

“I wouldn’t have let her,” the brunette whispered. “I—we didn’t know each other, but I couldn’t let you die. You were too special.”

The emerald eyes went up to stare right into the blue ones, only a foot separating the two women. After taking an inhalation, Lexa brought her free hand to the side of the blonde’s face, caressing the cheek with fingers as light as a feather. When Clarke closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, the pirate’s hand moved to hold her neck gently, and brought their lips together. Neither of them moved to deepen the kiss, but their mouths remained connected for a long minute, before Lexa pulled back, her forehead resting on the other woman’s shoulder.

Clarke moved her hand into the chestnut mane, appreciating its softness. When she began to massage the woman’s scalp, the sigh of contentment she felt against her skin brought a tender smile to her lips. After kissing the top of her head, she slowly pulled the pirate by the neck until she lay against her on the bed, their legs intertwined, Lexa’s head on her chest. She wasn’t quite sure what it meant for the two of them, or how her situation on _The Flame_ would evolve but, that night, hugging the beautiful pirate who had stolen her heart, Clarke slept better than she had in years.


	6. Chapter 6

At the end of August 1716, _The Flame_ made port in St. Pierre, on the French island Martinique. After three months at sea, the Commander decided that her crew had earned the right to unwind and spend their hard-earned money on ale and prostitutes. Pretending to be merchants, most of the sailors spread into the different taverns, leaving Clarke, Lexa and some of her most trusted mates to explore the port. Raven had recently designed a wooden leg for herself, and she was excited to test it on solid ground. With _The Flame_ under Indra and Gustus’s surveillance, the two captains made their way to the closest tavern.

A few ales and a light dinner later, the two women left the rest of their group to sing and dance and walked down the streets side by side, their hands brushing now and then. Before they could reach the next establishment, however, they found themselves surrounded. The five men, clearly drunk as skunks, started taunting them; one of them grabbing his crotch while making offensive comments. Clarke was no stranger to fistfights, some males with a fragile ego didn’t take too kindly on women wearing a uniform. But before she could get ready, Lexa had sent a punch straight into the nearest man’s face, knocking him out.

The next couple of minutes were a blur of insults and blood splatters. By the time Clarke had taken a man down by kicking his shin hard enough to break it, Lexa had disposed of two more without even unsheathing her swords. The blonde watched in awe as the brunette took care of the last of their assailants. She had known that the Commander was a good fighter, but she had never realised how talented and deadly the pirate truly was. Lexa was a force to be reckoned with, and the man didn’t stand a chance. She dodged her opponent’s attacks quickly and countered without missing a beat, using the butt of her flintlock to render him unconscious.

“Come on!” the blonde shouted, grabbing her companion’s hand, “let’s go before the officers arrive. I don’t fancy spending the night in jail.”

The two women ran for a few minutes before stopping at the back of a tavern, panting. Still high on adrenaline, they stared at each other for a few seconds before crashing their lips together. Clarke’s back hit the wall behind her, the brunette’s body flushed against hers, long fingers tangled in golden hair, making her whimper. Feeling the passion take over, she couldn’t wait anymore and slipped a hand under the pirate’s shirt, kneading her binding-clad breasts. She would probably have ripped the piece of clothing off if Lexa hadn’t grabbed her hands and pulled her away from the wall.

The brunette entered the tavern, her hand never leaving Clarke’s, and dropped a few coins on the counter before taking the key the innkeeper gave her and leading Clarke towards the second floor. The whole operation had lasted less than two minutes, but the blonde was already missing the warmth of the other woman’s body against hers.

Lexa barely had time to lock the door that Clarke threw herself at her, trapping the lean body against the wood and swallowing a whimper with her mouth. The pouty lips moved against hers with hunger, moans escaping both their throats now and then. She heard her shirt being ripped before she felt two strong hands roam against her body, nails scraping her lower back. Not wanting to be outdone, she wasted no time in lifting the shirt off the brunette and untying the bindings, finally freeing two small perky breasts.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, a large grin on her face, before she attached her lips onto one of them, eliciting an “Oh God” and a hip roll from her companion. The blonde suckled on a light brown bud, her fingers running against the other for a few minutes, before she sneaked a hand into the other woman’s tight pants.

“Off,” Lexa groaned, too excited to wait any longer, “take them off.”

Deciding to obey orders for once, Clarke made quick work of the brunette’s pants and underwear, before cupping her.

“God, you are so wet,” she whispered in the woman’s ear, her fingers moving up and down slick folds. Too impatient to tease, she plunged a finger into warm heat, moaning at the feeling. Using her own hips as leverage, she kept pumping until Lexa, her head resting on Clarke’s shoulder, begged for more. Grabbing the brunette by the neck, she pulled her towards the bed and pushed her until the pirate, staring at her with hooded eyes, was lying in her naked glory, her tattoos and scars glowing in the candlelight.

Still in her pants and bindings, Clarke kneeled by the bed, between her lover’s muscled thighs. Putting a leg over one of her shoulders, she began licking earnestly at the brunette’s centre, smirking at the sounds she was able to pull out of the normally so composed woman. She teased her for a few minutes, staying away from where the pirate really wanted her until a hand pulled at her hair, trying to direct her. Smiling to herself, she relented, and started describing small circles on the bundle of nerves with her tongue. When she felt the legs around her starting to shake, she inserted two fingers into her lover, curling once, twice, and Lexa arched herself off the bed, her moan echoing in the small room.

Wiping her mouth with her hand, Clarke climbed onto the bed and lay next to the brunette, smirking. “I knew I would get a scream out of you.” Lexa laughed, turning onto her side to look at the blonde.

“I think you are a little overdressed,” she chuckled, caressing the blonde’s arm up and down.

“Why don’t you do something about it then?”

Grinning, the pirate untied the bindings and removed the blonde’s pants and undergarments in a few precise movements. She took the time to admire the round, heavy breasts, lavishing them with kisses and little nips, her hips flushed against her lover’s.

“My turn,” she whispered before softly biting Clarke’s lobe. Her lips firmly anchored on a pink nipple, the brunette wasted no time and plunged two fingers into her lover. The blonde had been dripping for far too long already, and she knew that she wouldn’t last. Indeed, it only took a few minutes for Lexa to make her fall over the edge, with a smile that would have been too smug if it weren’t warranted.

The brunette didn’t stop, though, and she continued to pump into Clarke at a slower pace, prolonging her orgasm. The blonde was only starting to catch her breath that the pirate lowered herself to face the apex of the white thighs, smirking. “I’m not done with you yet,” she teased, before going to work all over again.

When Clarke woke up the next morning, her body was deliciously sore. She and Lexa had battled in the sheets for hours, taking turns making the other beg for release. She had fallen asleep at dawn, her lover curled around her back, an arm looped around her waist. When she turned, however, she realised that the other side of the bed was empty and cold. Frowning, she retrieved her clothes on the floor and dressed quickly. Had Lexa gone to fetch them breakfast? With a bad feeling at the pit of her stomach, the blonde exited the room and found the innkeeper downstairs. The fat grumpy man confirmed what she had feared, her companion had left about two hours before, after paying for the room for a few days.

Clarke ran to the port, hoping that it would have taken Lexa time to gather all her sailors dispersed in the various taverns of St. Pierre and most probably still hungover. But once she arrived near the water, she had to face the cruel truth; _The Flame_ was gone, and so was the pirate with striking eyes she had fallen for.


	7. Chapter 7

On a beautiful day of March 1717, _The Flame_ was making good time. They had been tracking a large Spanish galleon rumoured to carry many riches towards Porto Rico ever since they had heard of it from one of Lexa’s contacts. Its escort had apparently been lost during a storm, and this was the perfect opportunity to strike. The vessel was meant to cross between Monserrat and the island of Antigua and Barbuda, and the pirates were planning on ambushing it before it could reach Saint Kitts and Nevis.

To Lexa’s dismay, the journey brought them closer to Guadeloupe than they had been in over six months. Ever since she had abandoned the woman she loved on Martinique, the brunette had been very careful not to attack any French vessel, nor to go near the blonde’s hometown. Her crew noticed her gloomy mood and new resolution, but no one commented on it, apart from Anya. Tired of seeing her former protégée haunt her own ship like a soul trapped in the Asphodel Meadows, the Asian woman forced her one evening to drink cup of rum after cup of rum, until the Commander spilt her guts, both literally and figuratively. The older blonde let her friend cry on her shoulder before throwing a bucket of cold water at her face and telling her to get over it and be the leader she was meant to be. The following day, the brunette had taken the wheel for the first time since St. Pierre, and her crew had been secretly delighted to have their captain back.

They had been moving to intercept the Spanish galleon for a couple of days now, and the pirates were getting excited at the thought of all the coins they would be able to spend on ale and women later. On the morning of the 5th of March, Aden spotted a vessel large enough to be their target. It was half-hidden in the cove of a smaller island, probably replenishing its reserves of fresh water and food. Based on what she could see in her spyglass, the ship seemed quiet, and most of the crew was probably onshore, which would make the whole operation smoother.

As one man, the pirates got ready for boarding. Not expecting much resistance, they decided to forgo the usual broadside in order not to accidentally send the vessel to the bottom before they could pillage it. Lexa tightened the sword scabbards around her hips, double-checked that her flintlocks were loaded and her knives were all sheathed on her torso and behind her back. She applied the war paint typical of her crew, but this time, on top of the usual band of black covering her eyes, she drew three lines on each of her cheeks, resembling tear stains. Anya raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on the display; as long as the Commander didn’t shed any real tears in front of her enemies, she was fine with the theatrics.

 _The Flame_ got closer and closer to the Spanish vessel’s starboard side, the crew’s excitation and impatience increasing exponentially. Once they were only a few yards away from the hull, the few Spanish sailors that had been left to guard the ship jumped overboard and started swimming towards the shore, clearly aware that they would be no match for the pirates. Lexa was about to order the boarding when Aden shouted at her, “Ships on starboard!” making her jerk her head.

The cove where the Spanish vessel had decided to hide had two openings, the small one where _The Flame_ had entered, located towards the stern of the galleon, and a larger one at their bow. Knowing that they would be able to sail straight ahead an exit after attacking their target, the Commander hadn’t been worried about their surroundings too much. But to her horror, more ships had been hiding nearby, waiting for them to enter so they could trap them. She could see a large frigate coming from behind, and their way out was blocked by a ship of the line and a brigantine. The enemy vessels rapidly positioned themselves in a way that they could fire a broadside at _The Flame_ ’s stern and bow without fearing retaliation, especially since the pirates, not expecting anyone to come on starboard, had only loaded the cannons on the port side. Worse, as _The Flame_ was now side by side with the Spanish galleon, by the time they could manoeuvre to a more favourable position to fire their cannons, they would have taken two or three salvos.

Lexa realised at that moment that she had been played. The whole thing had been an elaborate scheme designed to lead them there. The Spanish ship, if it was really Spanish, was empty, blocking their side and allowing their three assailants to fire at will without fear of hitting their allies. She knew they were out of options. They had virtually no chance of winning this battle naval, and even if they could jump overboard and swim to shore, the island wasn’t particularly big and probably already crawling with enemies.

The three ships were closing in on them, and she noticed the French flags floating with the wind. Maybe it was fitting after all, that she would meet her end at the hand of compatriots of the woman whose trust she had betrayed all those months ago. The pirates wouldn’t go down without a fight though, they had their pride and a reputation to uphold after all. Lexa shouted at her crew to get their weapons ready and to arm the cannons on starboard, encouraging them to be brave and not fear death.

The ship of the line came closer, and as she was getting ready to brace for a broadside, a male voice made itself heard through a megaphone instead.

“This is a message for the captain of _The Flame_. My name is Commodore Bellamy Blake, here on the orders of the governor of Guadeloupe. We have you surrounded, and you don’t stand a chance against all of us. Surrender now, and you will be brought to Polis to face justice. You have the governor’s word that you will be granted a fair trial, and that all of your crew members below 18 will be spared.”

The pirates looked at each other, surprised at the turn of events. French ships were not known to show pirates mercy, and the offer sounded almost too good to be true. Many knew that, even with a fair trial, they would be hanged. But some of them hadn’t been part of the crew for a long time, and hoped to be sentenced to prison or pardoned if they could convince a judge that they had been coerced. They did not doubt that the Commander would do everything she could to save her men, even if it meant shouldering all their crimes herself.

Lexa was hesitant, not willing to give up in case the whole thing was another trap. But she had to admit that, if all he wanted was to get rid of them, Commodore Blake could easily send them to the bottom. Offering them a chance to surrender and bringing them back to Polis was a more difficult feat, and he wouldn’t mention it if he wasn’t sincere.

Lost in thoughts, she didn’t notice that Anya and Indra had moved close to her until Anya cleared her throat, calling for her attention.

“So, Lexa, this is the end then?” the blonde huffed.

“One way or another, I’m afraid so, yes,” she replied honestly. “I guess it’s up to us to decide if we want to go down with the ship or not.”

“If I may, Commander, I would rather die on my two feet, weapons in hand,” Indra began, “but the kids deserve a chance.”

Lexa looked at the always so serious woman, nodding. She had already reached the same conclusion. If it were only her, she would prefer to die fighting than at the gallows, or worse. But she had several teenagers on her crew, orphans or runaways like herself, and she couldn’t condemn them to a similar fate when they might have a chance at life. She turned to Anya, who was staring at her, gentler than she had seen her in a long time.

“It’s OK, Lexa. Do what is best for your crew, like always. I will support you.”

Taking a deep inhalation, the brunette nodded at her oldest friend before shouting with a steady voice, “Strike our colours!”

The pirates threw their weapons down, obeying their captain for the last time. When the French soldiers boarded, they had to force themselves not to react when they saw their Commander being put in chains and moved to the ship of the line. The crew of _The Flame_ was tied up and imprisoned on the three French ships, ready to be brought back to Polis. Lexa, separated from her men, was locked in a cabin, wondering what was going to happen to her frigate and if she would be able to see the blonde that still haunted her dreams before an unforgiving rope was placed around her neck.


	8. Chapter 8

The three French ships reached Polis two days after the capture of _The Flame_ and its legendary crew. When Lexa was pushed ashore, she realised some of the French sailors had taken over her frigate and brought her back to Polis with them. Her blood boiled at the thought of strangers pacing up and down its deck and holding its wheel, but part of her was glad that they hadn’t simply burnt it at the cove.

Separated once again from the rest of her crew, the brunette found herself locked into the basement of a splendid mansion that overlooked the city, the governor’s house without a doubt. She was left to her own devices for a few hours until two guards entered and forced her on her feet. Her wrists in chains, they pushed her towards a large office on the second floor, where a middle-aged man was waiting for her. When he introduced himself as the governor of Guadeloupe, his blue eyes staring at Lexa, the pirate knew that he was the one she had to convince to keep his word and let her young charges live.

“So, this is the fearful Commander of _The Flame_. You are much younger than I expected,” the man started, looking at the woman sitting in front of him. “I have some questions for you, answer them truthfully and I will be more inclined to show some clemency to your crew. Do we understand each other?” When Lexa nodded once, he continued. “Based on the records I have in my possession, it seems that for the past two years, almost three, you and your crew have been treasure-hunting more often than pillaging ships. In fact, over the last eight months, you haven’t attacked a single French vessel. What brought that change?”

Lexa knew that she didn’t owe the man an explanation, but in the face of her upcoming end, she wanted someone to hear the truth. Call it pride, or regret, or simply to fear of being forgotten once she and her mates would be executed, she didn’t fancy going down in history only as a murderer, her title a curse more than the blessing it had been.

“The name of Commander of _The Flame_ was bestowed upon me almost three years ago,” she started, looking at the man sitting across from her straight in the eyes. “That’s what changed. My predecessor was a bloodthirsty pirate who was only interested in accumulating richness, he didn’t care about his crew or his victims. My men are my family, endangering their lives is not something that I ever did lightly.”

“And yet, on the 10th of July last year, you attacked one of our ships, _The Arkadia_. They managed to escape, but not before losing their captain.”

Lexa frowned in confusion at that. Had Clarke not made it back to Polis? She had assumed that the blonde would have returned to Guadeloupe by now.

“Captain Clarke was made prisoner on our ship,” she answered carefully, not wanting to condemn the woman to a fate similar to hers by revealing their past connection. “We lost our physician during the attack on _The Arkadia_ , and we forced her to officiate as our onboard doctor for a few weeks. But I swear, we left her in St. Pierre about six months ago, very much alive.”

“Why should I believe you? No one has seen her since, and if she really spent time on your ship, she must have learned some of your secrets. It would have been much easier for you to keep her onboard or kill her once you didn’t need her services anymore. Why would you willingly let her go?”

“Because I fell in love with her,” Lexa all but whispered. Surprised at her own confession, she looked up and saw the blue eyes staring at her with far more tenderness than before. She should have been embarrassed at her display of emotions, but she realised that, in the face of death, she didn’t care much about people knowing that she had, after all, a heart. “I love her, and she deserved better than this life, trapped on a pirate ship, unable to return to her family. So, I let her go. I abandoned her on Martinique, and I left without looking back.”

The governor leaned back in his chair at her statement, the corners of his mouth pulled upwards. He then opened a desk drawer, retrieved some documents from it, and took a long inhalation. When he looked at her again, there was something in his eyes that Lexa couldn’t quite place.

“There is a lot more to you than I expected, Commander,” he began, his voice warmer. “To be honest, I didn’t think you would agree to surrender in the first place, even to save some of your younger sailors. Looking at the recent reports on _The Flame_ , I had a feeling you were different from most pirates, but not to that extent.”

“Which is why,” he continued after a short pause, “I would like to make you an offer. I have here with me a Letter of Marque from the King of France, which pardons you for all your prior crimes committed against the Crown and grants you a commission as a _corsaire_. Should you accept, you and your crew will be spared and allowed to sail in the employ of France.”

Lexa had always prided herself on her composure and sangfroid. This turn of events, however, had been so unexpected that she could feel her mouth wide open in disbelief.

“I—how—,” she stuttered, unable to organize her thoughts. “Why?”

“I thought that you deserved a chance,” the man shrugged. Lexa had a weird déjà vu feeling but didn’t have time to ponder over it. “As I said, I noticed the differences between you and your predecessors, and it seems like you are more redeemable than we anticipated. You have had a lot of success over the last three years, it would be a shame to put an end to all of that when you could be working for our country instead.”

“And what if I refuse?”

“Then your men will be taken to the gallows and hanged, and you will finish your days in a crow’s cage. Only those under 18 years old will be spared, as promised.”

The brunette had known by then that she couldn’t say no. She had her pride, and sailing under someone else’s orders was not something that she had wanted to do, but she was also responsible for the destiny of her crew, and she couldn’t condemn them when there was a way to save them all. She had a feeling they wouldn’t be thrilled either, but being privateers was a far more enviable fate than death.

“Very well Governor, I accept,” she replied, her voice stronger than it had been in days.

“Good,” the man smiled, not surprised by her choice. “Just to be clear, if you were to betray your orders or attack a French ship ever again, this letter would be considered null and void and you would be treated as a pirate once more. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Perfect. I will see that your men are released and fed then. My daughter will explain all the details to you.”

“Oh, and Lexa?” the man called for her again, his hand on the door handle. “If you hurt her, the crow’s nest will sound like heaven compared to what I’ll do to you.”

His demeanour had been surprisingly kind so far, but seeing the seriousness in his eyes at that moment, the brunette did not doubt that he would carry out his threat. Unable to speak, she swallowed thickly and nodded once. The man, seemingly reassured, left the room without another word.

Lexa stood there, wondering how long she would have to wait for the precious daughter to show up, when she saw from the corner of her eyes a wall covering being pushed aside. The tapestry revealed the entrance of a smaller room, adjacent to the one she was in, and a beautiful woman came in. The pirate turned privateer gasped at the sight of the blonde, her blue dress hugging her figure in all the right places and showing just enough cleavage to be considered appropriate, her blue eyes shining lightly and staring back at her. _Clarke_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> corsaire = a French privateer


	9. Chapter 9

“Clarke.”

Lexa wasn’t sure how long they stood there, staring at each other, the brunette confused by the events of the previous half an hour, and the blonde looking at her with tears in her eyes. One of them had to break the silence, though, and the newly appointed privateer tentatively cleared her throat.

“What—how are you here?”

“Well, after you left me on Martinique, I found a French ship on its way here and sailed with them.” The brunette felt her cheeks redden at the mention of the last time she had been with Clarke. Based on her tone of voice, the blonde hadn’t quite forgiven her.

“Though I am very sorry about that, I meant, how are you here, now, in this office?”

“Oh, yes. I suppose I never told you my full name. I’m Clarke Griffin. Governor Jacob Griffin is my father.”

At that last revelation, Lexa felt her eyes bulge so much she feared for a second that they would pop out of their orbits. All this time, the governor’s daughter had been a prisoner on her ship? She gulped at the thought of what could have happened if she had let her crew kill the blonde that first day. She couldn’t believe that despite the events that had transpired between them and her betrayal, the woman still had pleaded their cause to her father. Her train of thoughts must have been evident, because Clarke interrupted her.

“I told him what happened when I was on your ship, all of it, and I asked him to show leniency. However, it was your actions, Lexa, that convinced him. He loves me very much, but he wouldn’t have spared you simply for my sake. He did it because he saw something in you, as I did. You are much more than the pirate people make you to be.”

Lexa felt tears threaten to spill from her eyes at the woman’s kindness she didn’t believe she deserved. “Clarke, I’m sorry for the way I left, but—”

“You mean, the way you disappeared after we spent the night together?” the woman interrupted, sarcasm heavy in her voice and eyebrows frowned. “Way to make me feel used.”

“It was never my intention, Clarke. I didn’t plan to leave you like that, but I saw a chance for you to return to your old life, and—”

“I know Lexa,” the blonde sighed, getting closer. “I knew the moment I realised that you were gone why you had done it. You are the most selfless and noble person I have ever met, which is ironic considering your occupation.”

Lexa couldn’t take her eyes off the woman, grateful that she could see her again despite everything. She had feared that she would die without being forgiven and now, although the blonde still seemed annoyed at her, she had a chance to redeem herself. A smile appeared on her mouth, remembering the time they had sailed together, when a realisation made her eyebrows rise.

“You! It was you! You are the one who designed this trap, aren’t you? Spread the rumour about the Spanish galleon that had lost its escort, and had us trapped into that cove.”

The grin on Clarke’s face was so big and beautiful that, regardless of her vexation, if Lexa hadn’t already been in love with her, she would have completely fallen at that moment.

“Well, you shouldn’t have trusted Murphy really. That man is a weasel, I’ve known him for many years, and he always does what benefits him. But yes, it was my plan. I knew you would surrender if there was a chance to save Aden and the others.”

Shaking her head slightly, Lexa hesitated between laughing at the woman’s ingenuity or being upset that she had been tricked. The decision was taken out of her hands when the blonde approached and pulled her by the shirt, finally connecting their lips. They kissed languorously for a few minutes, appreciating the fact that they were both there, alive, reunited at last.

“For the record,” Clarke said gently yet with a serious look, her hand caressing the older woman’s face, “I love you too. But if you ever abandon me like that again, I will do far worse than tie you to the mast for days.”

The brunette swallowed slowly, knowing that she might be forgiven, but the blonde hadn’t forgotten and would surely carry out her threat. She was lucky that, despite everything, the French captain had interceded in her favour.

“I swear, I will never leave you, for as long as you will have me,” she whispered before reconnecting their lips. She tried to hold the blonde’s face, but the chains around her wrists made it impossible.

“You wouldn’t happen to have the keys, by any chance?”

“I do,” Clarke smirked, “although I am a little partial to the idea of you tied up and writhing under me.”

Lexa felt herself getting wet at the image conjured in her head, and bit her lips to contain a moan. “Maybe next time, love. I would really like to hug you right now.”

Finally free of her shackles, she held the blonde so tightly against her body than she wasn’t sure where she ended and where the other woman started. They remained in that position for several minutes, before Clarke pushed her gently.

“Not to cut this short, but I had a room prepared for you. You should take a bath and change before dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah,” the French woman answered sheepishly. “You have met my father, though unofficially; now it’s time you met my mother.”

 _Oh, God_.

*****

The dinner with the governor and his wife, Doctor Abigail Griffin, went surprisingly well. When Clarke had returned to Polis months before, both parents hadn’t been ecstatic to hear that their daughter had fallen in love with a pirate, but Lexa’s good manners and clear adoration for the blonde appeased some of their fears.

After a few days on the island, Lexa decided to leave Guadeloupe and begin her mission as a _corsaire_ , and Clarke announced, to no one’s surprise, that she would sail with her lover on _The Flame_. Most of the former pirates agreed to follow their Commander and work under the French flag. The few who refused were pardoned for their previous crimes, under the condition that they would never attack another ship again. Part of Clarke’s crew decided to join them as well, and that was how Lexa met Wells and Octavia, and to her surprise, was reunited with Lincoln.

The former pirate and physician explained how he had been injured during the boarding of _The Arkadia_. A few hours later, while the crew had been disembarking in Polis Harbour, Octavia had found him hidden in a cabin. Rather than kill him or have him arrested; the short brunette saw the gentle soul behind the scary appearance. She helped him into her house, where she nursed him back to health. Not long after Clarke’s return, however, Octavia’s older brother Bellamy found out about the pirate and threw him in jail. It took both Octavia and Clarke’s pleadings for the governor to relent and grant him his freedom. Since then, Lincoln had worked hard under Abigail’s supervision to prove himself, and after months of arguments, Bellamy had been forced to accept that his sister was going to spend the rest of her life with the sweet giant. 

On March 12, 1717, 9 months after their first encounter, _The Flame_ left Polis harbour with two captains onboard, the legendary Commander and the blonde who had brought her to her knees. Firmly holding the wheel, Lexa took a look around, smiling at the view of her crew. Aden was at his post at the lookout, ready to shout at the first sign of trouble. Indra and Gustus were standing nearby, making sure their Commander and her lover remained safe. Raven was walking from bow to stern, probably thinking about how she could improve the sails to make _The Flame_ faster, her wooden leg rhythmically hitting the deck. Anya was keeping an eye on her woman while sharpening her sword, though she would never admit it, and Tris was smirking at her mentor. Lincoln was nowhere to be seen, most certainly in his cabin cleaning his surgical instruments or cuddling with his fiancée, definitely one of the two. Clarke’s friends already seemed to have seamlessly integrated the crew; Wells was proving to be an expert at cartography, a funny boy called Jasper had offered to improve the quality of the gunpowder, and another by the name of Monty was an excellent cook, something that _The Flame_ had been lacking for a long time.

“So, my love,” Clarke called, interrupting her reverie, “where to?”

“Well,” she replied with a smile, “at the tavern, I heard of a British frigate that recently went down, somewhere near Dominica, with a shipment of precious metal. How would you feel about a diving expedition?”

“I thought you’d never asked,” the blonde chuckled, before kissing her lightly on the lips.

For as long as she could remember, Lexa had been weighed down with all her responsibilities. First, as a future lady, she had been forced to be proper in all circumstances, and had had to hide her attraction to women. Then, as a pirate and Commander, she had been in charge of her crew’s well-being and safety. But now, with the woman she loved by her side, helping her lead as an equal, she finally felt happy and free. No matter what would come their way, she knew that they would overcome it together she thought, listening to the song their men struck up.

It's time to go now,  
Haul away your anchor,  
Haul away your anchor,  
It's our sailing time.

Get some sail upon her,  
Haul away your halyards,  
Haul away your halyards.  
It's our sailing time.

Get her on her course now,  
Haul away your foresheets,  
Haul away your foresheets,  
It's our sailing time.

Waves are surging under,  
Haul away down Channel,  
Haul away down Channel,  
On the evening tide.

When your sailing's over,  
Haul away for Heaven,  
Haul away for Heaven,  
God be by your side.

It is time to go now,  
Haul away your anchor,  
Haul away your anchor,  
It's our sailing time.

(Padstow’s Farewell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go guys, that was the last chapter, at least until I have enough ideas for a decent sequel.
> 
> The song is from Assassin's Creed IV Black Flag
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this story at least half as much as I did writing it. Don't hesitate to leave a kudo and/or a comment, I love chatting with you all. Stay safe, and may we meet again soon!


End file.
